Ain't Stupid
by senor failboat
Summary: Spot and Race hang out in Spot's house, discussing news, French class, and everything else that comes to mind. Modern day, SpotRace established relationship. My first Newsies fic here, I'm so proud.


Title: **Ain't Stupid**  
Category: Movies » Newsies  
Language: English, Rating: Fiction Rated: T  
Genre: Romance/Friendship  
Pairing: Spot Conlon (Sean) X Racetrack Higgins (Tony)  
Disclaimer: Newsies does not belong to me... and I'm OK with that.

* * *

N: This was inspired by my giant bag of Craisins. Its net weight is 48 ounces, or 1360 grams. Do you know how many Craisins that is?  
S: No. Do you?  
N: No, but they are quite delicious. Anyway, guys, this is just a ramble. Just modern day Spot and Race, hanging out as seventeen year olds will. Nothing too exciting, but it makes me feel good.

* * *

"I can't believe some guy got trampled in a Wal-Mart! I mean, really? What were they all thinking, 'I don't care that he's dead, I need my goddamn two dollar DVD of True Lies'?" Tony Higgins glared at the television set, and took an angry swig of his water. He was sitting cross-legged on the Conlons's dark blue couch, where he and his boyfriend, Sean Conlon, were watching the news.

"I don't know, Race, geez," Sean told him, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. Tony had been growing increasingly irritated as the news went on, so Sean wasn't surprised by his sudden outburst. "It sucks, though. 'Member when I worked at Wal-Mart?"

"How could I forget? You molested me in the friggin' break room," Tony reminded him, finally distracted. He grinned at Sean, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "When your manager walked in... Oh, man, good times."

"I thought he was gonna have a stroke," Sean said, smirking, "and it ain't _molesting_ if you're telling me to touch you." Tony punched him lightly on the shoulder, and he snickered. "Seriously, though. At Wal-Mart, you don't make squat. They give you piss poor hours, force you to work a really weird schedule, and for what?" He sighed heavily, and from the way his nostrils flared, Tony could tell he was upset. "I'm willing to bet that this guy just wanted to do his hours, go home and eat some leftovers, maybe pop open a beer, and instead he gets trampled. What a crappy way to kick it."

"See, this is why I didn't wanna watch the news. It just upsets everybody who sees it, because they only ever report the same upsetting garbage that nobody needs to hear." Tony drained his water bottle, and set to picking off the label, a frown on his face.

After a long silence, Sean said, "You look like a little kid when you do that."

Tony smacked him on the leg, but he was grinning. "You gonna change the channel or what?"

Sean picked up the remote control from its resting place on his crotch. Tony always told him it was an inappropriate spot for the remote to be in, but when his feet were kicked up on the small coffee table, one leg on top of the other, it was just the place that it ended up when he rested it on his leg. Besides that, it was always interesting to see how Tony dealt with it when he wanted the remote. Some days, he remembered where it was before he reached for it. Other days... well.

He flipped randomly through the TV guide until a title caught his eye. "Speak of the devil! Look, Race, True Lies is on."

"That's such an overused phrase. And we're not gonna watch some crappy Schwarzenegger film. _Especially_ not some crappy Schwarzenegger film that happens to be an extended remake of a crappy _French_ film." Tony carefully peeled the paper label of his water bottle from the four lines of glue connecting it to the plastic, letting out a quiet, "Ha!" of triumph when it came off perfectly. He returned his full attention to Sean, who was smiling fondly. Tony blushed. "What're you smiling about, huh?"

"Oh, nothing. True Lies isn't _crappy_," Sean replied, "it's just not _good_, either." The look Tony shot him was absolutely withering. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to make faces?" He teased, poking Tony's cheek.

Tony smacked Sean's hand away, and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah; she also told me not to make out with other boys, and look how well that lesson was pounded into me."

"Your mother would never be that specific in her restrictions. In fact, probably didn't even cross her mind that you might want to do that, which surprises me, because I assume she understands the appeal of men. I mean, she's got three kids, that says somethin' to me." Sean laughed as Tony's face paled, but cut short when his expression of horror changed to a glare and he elbowed his boyfriend in the stomach. "Son of a... I was kidding," he groaned, grabbing his stomach with one arm.

"Sorry," Tony said, sounding completely insincere, but he leaned over and kissed Sean, so it was all right. "But, man. Don't ever mention sex in even the same _paragraph_ as my parents," he requested, shivering a little. "There's a lot of gross stuff I can talk about, but even thinking about that makes me feel like I need to scrub my insides with steel wool and bleach."

"Sounds painful," Sean remarked, "and bad for both of us. You'd probably lose all your taste for dirty humor and everything, and then who'd appreciate my wit?"

"You mean somebody appreciates it now?" Tony asked. He laughed when Sean hit his shoulder lightly, and kissed him again. "Come on, Spot, don't be mad. You know I'm always a bitch on Thursdays, and the TV ain't helping."

"'Cause of your damn French class, I know. Why are you still in it, anyway?" Sean asked as he turned the television set off. "All it's doin' is making you hate France. I can't even mention French toast without you getting all pissy."

"Screw you, I don't get pissy when you talk about French toast," Tony said, uncrossing his legs so he could shove Sean.

Sean shoved him back. "Don't deny it, you got pissy just now when I mentioned it!"

Tony groaned. "Oh my God, you're right. It's friggin' Mademoiselle Pomeroy. She creeps me out, Spot, the way she acts. She like... touches me, when I do good in class." He cleared his throat and mimicked her, his voice high-pitched and almost a perfect imitation. "'Oh, Tony, vous êtes en train de faire si bien'," he trilled, brushing his hand over Sean's shoulder.

"Never, ever do that again," Sean told him slowly. "That's really creepy."

"I told you!" Tony looked triumphant, and he patted his boyfriend's cheek to comfort him. "I won't do it again, but it's creepy, right? I mean, she's gotta be at least forty years old, and she's my teacher. That's just weird."

"Yeah, but it was creepier because you also sounded like David's sister," Sean added, snickering. Tony laughed, shaking his head, and Sean admired the way his face lit up. He leaned forward and kissed him, cupping Tony's cheek in his hand.

"What was that for?" Tony asked, grinning. "You kissin' me 'cause I sound like David's sister?"

"Yeah, that's exactly why," Sean replied sarcastically. "I was just about to go call Davey and tell him I wanna jump Sarah's bones."

"Oh, well then, I oughta call Jack and tell him to stay home tonight. He'll be all broken up over his girlfriend leaving him. Again." Tony snorted.

"Is this the fourth or the fifth time they've gotten back together this year?" Sean asked curiously, pulling Tony closer. He made a contented noise in the back of his throat as Tony straddled his hips, resting his hands on Sean's shoulders.

"Fifth time," Tony told him, smirking. "They can't decide who they're in love with. They're stupid." His breath hit Sean's face with warm puffs, and he leaned forward until their foreheads touched. "We ain't."

"No, we ain't," Sean confirmed. He gripped the back of Tony's neck with his hand, and kissed him, because he wasn't stupid: He knew who he loved.

* * *

N: SURPRISE SAPPY ENDING. BOOSH.  
S: Boosh?  
N: Boosh.  
S: All right. Feel free to leave a review. It's easier now than ever.


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